All About Him
by fanofkdc
Summary: The other oneshot, mostly done from Sara's POV, but the last paragraph is from thirdperson perspective


TITLE: ALL ABOUT HIM

AUTHOR: fanofkdc

SUMMARY: PART TWO OF THE 'ALL ABOUT THEM' SERIES - GRISSOM FROM SARA'S POV

RATING: K+

DISCLAIMER: HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO SAY IT?

Guy trouble. _Quelle surprise._ But it's worse than that. If it was just a _guy_, I might not be so bothered. But it's not. And I don't mean 'But it's not, because the guy isn't actually a guy.' Because he is. Trust me, I know. But it's complicated. He's not _just_ a guy, he's also one of my oldest friends ... in fact, probably my only friend, and he's also my boss. But things never used to be this ... complicated? Messy? Jeez, I feel like a kid again, but without all the blood and guts.

Gil Grissom was so cute when he gave lectures. He had retained what he must have had as a kid, that fascination with bugs when they're about eight years old and just think all the colourful but slightly dangerous things around them are great. What also made him cute was the fact that he was _so_ attractive. Not in a ruggedly handsome kind of way, I could tell that he wasn't a jock when he was at school - but he was boyishly cut. He was in his mid-thirties the, I think, but he was already starting to grey. His blue eyes sparkled from the light that refracted from his glasses, and he had the cutest cleft in his chin. Of course, he still has all these things, although he's not got a beard that took me a while to get used to ... so straight away, when I saw him, he made me feel all goose-pimply. I thought at the beginning of the lecture that I'd only go up to ask him a question at the end because of his looks, but his actual talk was so intersting that I had too many questions to ask him by the end. So I went up and started talking to him, and he was so ... he was very different to the person he'd presented himself in the lecture, and very different from a lot of lecturers _I'd_ ever met. He came across when he was teaching as being very confident, and he certainly knew what he was talking about, but in person he was a lot less self-assured, he was very polite and gentle and quiet, and he listened. The problem with most lecturers I knew was that they thought they knew everything, and they would only be quiet when you were talking to them because they were waiting for their turn to speak.

To my surprise, he asked me if I'd like to go and have coffee with him, then visit another entomologist friend of his - I accepted. It's not every day that I get an invitation from a hot bug guy. And besides, it wasn't just a physical thing - I really wanted to listen to him and what he had to say - he was a very interesting person (and still is), and I was glad that he thought I was worthy enough to be meeting his friends. Of course, I've lost a lot of that naivety, but sometimes, when he gets into teaching mode, I feel a pang of nostalgia. Oh, the good old days.

But I found that I enjoyed being around him so much that I asked for his number and stuff so we could keep in touch. He seemed really flattered - he'd gotten that look that made his eyes look like diamonds do when light hits them at an angle - it was the look he got when something really caught his attention and hooked him. So we swapped phone numbers, emails and addresses, and for the next few years, even when I went to Berkeley, we kept in touch.

I can't tell you how honoured I was when he called me to see if I would go and help out with the Holly Gribbs case - that he felt that after three years of being a CSI I'd be qualified to work with someone as good as _him_, that he though I could help him at a time when a lot of shit was going to hit the fan - I can't really articulate how it felt. And so I went to work for him and his team - there was Catherine, who was sassy and foxy and full to the brim with attitude and confidence, a person whom I would have avoided like the plague in high school; Nick, whose heart, which is made of 24-carat gold, is in the right place, although his dick sometimes isn't; Warrick, who personifies the 'still waters run deep' - I never would have guessed him to be a geology buff, as he was a self-confessed jock. But they're all good people, even techs like Greg, whose taste in music can be okay, although his hair and shirts usually aren't, and David the coroner's assistant, both of whom had crushes on me. Damn, I'm way too old for that now.

But back to me and Grissom - we got on so well, although we did have our moments - I felt bad that I had accused him of not feeling anything, but I just got so ... it's my issue, I get involved in those sort of cases too much, invest a part of myself ... damn, I've done that so much, I'm surprised there's any of me left to give out. But we flirted, mainly after I threatened to leave, and he sent me that goddamned plant. Shit, I don't know ... I always got the feeling that every time we had a close moment, he was opening himself further up to me. Then, for some reason, after he told me a deserved a life, I got one, and boy he did not like it. Not one bit. I met Hank the Skank, and I have it on very good authority that Grissom got _very_ pissed off, and then went and almost banged a dominatrix. I'm surprised that would have worked - I wouldn't have thought he'd be comfortable with someone else who was dominant - he needs to have control over _every_thing.

Then I made a mistake. I got too close. It was my fault for asking him out to dinner like that, so what else was he supposed to do? I was just on such a high after the explosion, and he called me 'Honey!' What the hell was _I_ supposed to do? So it came as much of a shock to me that he said 'no' as it was to him that I asked.

I don't know _why_ he said 'no.' Maybe he thinks he's too old, too much of a father figure. Shit, he's only fifteen years older than me, and he isn't _that _much of a father figure, otherwise my mother would have stabbed him to death by now.

So I went downhill from there on. I was a lot more intense, and his beard did nothing to help. God, what was I thinking when I asked him to pin me down? Jeez, I couldn't help it, it was a thought I had, and he happened to walk past ... I don't mind admitting that when he did, it fulfilled one or two of the fantasies I'd had about us. I don't even know when I started thinking about him as a sexual object, though. It just kind of crept up on me, like I wasn't expecting it. But damn, I could feel the sexual tension evaporating of him, and I almost pulled him down on me. Poor bastard. I don't even think he knew what was going on. I don't think his dick's attached to the rest of his body. He probably keeps it preserved in a jar of formaldehyde so he can look at it and make scientific assumptions about it. I swear the man has no sex drive,

So we were flirting on and off, but then came the whole chimaira case, and I just ... shit, I don't even know any more. I'd started drinking, and I didn't stop, and then I got the DUI. And worse than that, Grissom had to see me like a fucking drunk. But he was sweet enough about it. In fact, he was damn good about it. He took me home.

But I think after that, he started to sense that maybe something was wrong. I had my counselling sessios, but every time we tried to talk, something would crop up. And then I just went and shot myself in the foot with Ecklie and Catherine. And he came by, and asked me what was going on. And reluctantly, I told him. AND HE HELD MY GODDAMNED HAND AGAIN! Christ, I needed a hug, not a pat on the hand. And a hug wouldn't have hurt after that Trent psycho attacked me. To know Grissom was there for me - it wouldn't hurt.

I don't know why I've stayed this long. Why I've put myself through all this pain - I mean, I coulda quite happily gone along with my life never having to worry about my past, or whether or not my boss wanted to consummate a relationship with me, about the throb between my thighs whenever I saw him, or thought about him, or even read his name somewhere. But whatever it is that's made me stay, maybe it's been worth it. Things are starting to reach the old status quo again, but that's the problem - I want things to change, one way or another, and if he decides he definitively can't be with me, I want to know so that I can move on and find someone who does. And that's another problem - I could meet someone, but they'll never match up to Grissom. Knowing me, I'll have a parapraxis, and call out his name when I'm making love to my boyfriend. No-one will ever make me feel like Griss makes me feel, and I don't know if I want to go through the rest of my life knowing that I can never have him, or anyone else.

But anyway, I've got to go. There's been a knock at the door, but I'm not expecting anyone. Maybe it's Grissom. Maybe he needs to talk after everything that's gone down the past few days. He almost lost his best friend, and his other best friend almost lost her daughter, and I think he needs to chill out. But why would he come here? Why would he want to talk to me?

Sara opened the door. "Griss. I wasn't expecting to see you," she said, eyebrows lifting in surprise.

Grissom shuffled his feet. "I haven't interrupted you, have I?" he asked bashfully.

"No, 'course not. Come in, can I get you anything?" She opened the door wider to let him in. Their shoulders touched as he brushed past her, and both felt electrical charges run through their body.

"An ear," he replied, taking a seat at Sara's insistence.

"As in Mark Anthony? You wanna talk?" she asked, cocking her head slightly. She sat down next to him.

"Maybe," Grissom shrugged. He looked up suddenly. "Can I kiss you?" he asked, out of the blue.

Sara's jaw dropped. "Well, uh I wasn't expecting that. But, uh, if you really want to, I'm certainly not going to stop you," she said, cheeks tinged red.

He turned to face her, dropping his head and gently caressing her lips with his. "Sorry if I surpris-" he couldn't get the words out past Sara's mouth, which gently returned his gesture.

She kissed back with more force and pressure, her lips trying to get a confession out of his. His mouth opened against hers, he could feel the warm, slightly wet salvation her touch offered. He put a hand up to her face and cradled her cheek, gently stroking with his thumb. Reluctantly, they both disengaged, and Grissom closed his eyes, resting his forehead against hers. Then he stood up, and held a hand out to her. "Bedroom?" he asked, ducking his head like a schoolboy.

Sara's internal organs did something very strange - instead of trying to escape through her mouth, they felt like they were settling in for the long haul - she relaxed. She smiled uncertainly. "Sure. Just one thing?"

"Protection?" Grissom anticipated.

Sara shook her head. "No. I haven't, uh, let's just say it's been a long time since I last ...".

Grissom smiled tenderly. "Don't worry, it's not exactly a regular past time of mine, either." He helped her up, pulling her onto his lips, and they kissed as they slowly made their way to the bedroom.


End file.
